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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321334">You can pick your battles but you can't pick your poison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodenwashbucket/pseuds/woodenwashbucket'>woodenwashbucket</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Because apparently random goons in Gotham have poisoned weapons, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Dick Grayson has also been poisoned, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Angst, Poisoning, Seizures, Technically Tim Drake shows up, Vomiting, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:53:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodenwashbucket/pseuds/woodenwashbucket</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, am I bleeding a lot somewhere?” Nightwing asked. Batman gave him an unimpressed look, but Nightwing shook his head. “Seriously. I feel off.”<br/>Nightwing wobbled. <br/>Batman grabbed him by the shoulders before they could find out if he would have fallen, and Nightwing met his eyes with undisguised alarm.<br/>“Ok, maybe worse than off,” he said. </p>
<p>A fight ends worse than Batman and Nightwing realize at first.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>264</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You can pick your battles but you can't pick your poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My response to the Whumptober 2020 prompt No 22 Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? - Poisoned</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, am I bleeding a lot somewhere?” Nightwing asked. Batman gave him an unimpressed look, but Nightwing shook his head. “Seriously. I feel off.”</p>
<p>Batman stepped over the zip-tied, unconscious goons between them and tugged off a gauntlet to feel Nightwing’s forehead and take his pulse.</p>
<p>“So that’s a no on the excessive blood loss?” Nightwing kept talking while Batman circled him, then ran fingers through his hair, looking for injuries. “Remember the first time I was so amped that I didn’t notice injuries? And I almost fell off a building? Good times.”</p>
<p>Nightwing wobbled.</p>
<p>Batman grabbed him by the shoulders before they could find out if he would have fallen, and Nightwing met his eyes with undisguised alarm.</p>
<p>“Ok, maybe worse than off,” he said.</p>
<p>“Hnn,” Batman agreed. He helped his son to the nearest park bench and tapped his gauntlet to call the Batmobile.</p>
<p>“Ugh,” Nightwing grunted. Batman shot him a glare. “Just. Starting to feel nauseated. Kinda…really hot, too? Ugh.” He shook his head and winced.</p>
<p>“Eyes,” Batman demanded, and Nightwing flipped back the lenses on his mask.</p>
<p>“I didn’t get hit in the head, I promise,” he said. His consonants were starting to soften.</p>
<p>“Hnn,” Batman acknowledged, and then, “Hnn,” when Nightwing’s pupils reacted sluggishly to light.</p>
<p>“Batman to Cave, medical incoming,” Batman said into his comm. “Nightwing has-“ He cut off as Nightwing abruptly retched and threw up over the side of the park bench.</p>
<p>“Possible poisoning,” Batman finished, and lifted Nightwing off the bench.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he gasped.</p>
<p>“Don’t apologize.”</p>
<p>“Oh, right, the Batman school of interpersonal communication. Never apologize for anything.” Nightwing’s tone wasn’t selling the joke. “Feels stupid getting carried.”</p>
<p>“Too bad,” Batman said. “You’re my son and I’ll carry you if I want to.”</p>
<p>Nightwing retched again, but nothing came up.</p>
<p>“Crap,” he said after a moment. “I’m really not ok, huh?”</p>
<p>“Nausea in and of itself is concerning but not-“</p>
<p>“You called me your son,” Nightwing pointed out, trying and failing to grin. “Unprompted, even. One of us must be dying and since I’m the one being carried it’s probably me.”</p>
<p>“You’re not dying.”</p>
<p>“Sure. It’s…hot. I don’t…” he squirmed a little. “Don’t like it.”</p>
<p>He was twitching, and Batman sped up, walking toward the street where the Batmobile would be appearing any moment.</p>
<p>“Just a few minutes and then we can start to cool you down, chum,” he promised. He kept his tone as light and comforting as possible, but it was hard not to let the worry bleed through. Dick was sweating, now, and his muscle tone was increasing – gradually and inconsistently, but overall increasing. “So long as someone remembered to replace the instant ice packs in the med kit.”</p>
<p>“It was Robin’s turn,” Dick said, and his words were definitely starting to slur. Loss of fine motor control. “He probably did.”</p>
<p>“Well, in any case we can get your outer layer off,” Batman said.</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Dick said. He was breathing rapidly, now, and his face was flushed.</p>
<p>The Batmobile finally slewed into view and stopped sharply just in front of them. Batman didn’t bother getting in the driver’s seat, just reclined the passenger seat and strapped Dick in, growling “get us to the Cave” into the comm.</p>
<p>The car moved off before the top even closed completely, and Batman stabilized himself between the seats while he grabbed for the med kit.</p>
<p>Dick tried to peel his mask off but his fingers were twitching uncontrollably.</p>
<p>“Hurts,” he panted. “B, it hurts.”</p>
<p>“Where?” Batman demanded. He pulled off the mask and yanked the costume open, revealing flushed skin.</p>
<p>“Everywhere,” Dick whimpered. “No, no, wait, I can… I can do this.”</p>
<p>Batman activated two ice packs and tucked them against Dick’s neck.</p>
<p>“Major muscles,” Dick told him. “Legs, core, back. Burning, waves, uh-“</p>
<p>He cut off as his back arched, forcing him against the seat belt. He yelled through clenched teeth and went limp for a moment before starting to twitch again.</p>
<p>“Hate this.”</p>
<p>“Hnn.” Batman pulled a short-acting muscle relaxant out of the med kit. “I need your permission to give you this.”</p>
<p>“Do it,” Dick panted. “You’re here in case I choke or stop breathing.”</p>
<p>Batman peeled one of Dick’s sleeves off and pinned his arm.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Dick said, as though he had any control over the twitching.</p>
<p>“What did I tell you,” Batman said, finding a vein far too easily. Elevated blood pressure along with the rapid heart rate.</p>
<p>“Don’t apologize.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.” He waited for a straight part of the road, then injected the muscle relaxant.</p>
<p>Almost immediately the twitching reduced.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Dick slurred. “Hurts less.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Bruce said. He cupped his son’s bright red cheek and wiped away sweat with his thumb. “Tell me anything that changes.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Hnn,” Batman agreed.</p>
<p>They were five minutes from the Cave, still.</p>
<p>“Could say it when I’m not dying,” Dick mumbled. His breathing was slower but still elevated.</p>
<p>“You’re not dying now.”</p>
<p>“Kind of feels like it.”</p>
<p>“That’s mostly the hyperthermia.”</p>
<p>“Oh good, my brain is cooking. This is my brain on drugs. I hate heatstroke.”</p>
<p>“This isn’t heatstroke,” Batman pointed out.</p>
<p>“Same difference.”</p>
<p>“That phrase doesn’t make any sense.”</p>
<p>“That’s because you’re old.” Dick whined through his teeth as the twitching increased again. “Hurts more. Muscles, everywhere. Neck.”</p>
<p>He retched, and Batman helped him turn on his side just in case.</p>
<p>“I’ll throw up on you,” Dick panted.</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t be the first time.”</p>
<p>Dick glared.</p>
<p>“I don’t care, chum,” Bruce said, and gently swept the hair off Dick’s face. “I don’t mind. I want to see your face.”</p>
<p>“It’s a good face,” Dick said, trying and failing to grin, again.</p>
<p>“Hnn.”</p>
<p>Dick retched, and didn’t try to say anything else.</p>
<p>Dick had one seizure just before they reached the Batcave tunnels, and was in the midst of another when the Batmobile stopped. Alfred, forwarned, had a dose of diazepam ready in a syringe.</p>
<p>“Status epilepticus,” Batman reported.</p>
<p>“The ice bath isn’t ready yet,” Alfred said. He finished injecting the dose and pulled the syringe away. “Get him under cold water for a moment.”</p>
<p>Batman finished stripping the Nightwing suit off Dick as he carried him to the showers. He stood under the cold water, holding his son close until Alfred called that the ice bath was ready, just a moment later.</p>
<p>Dick’s temperature was still dangerously high when they got him arranged in the ice bath and hooked up to basic monitoring. Bruce put a blood sample into the analyzer, but he wasn’t optimistic this would be something with an antidote.</p>
<p>“Here,” Alfred pointed out. He indicated a scabbed-over scratch on the back of Dick’s arm, and held up the Nightwing suit to show a matching tear. “The sleeve nearly stopped whatever it was.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure,” Bruce said. He sat at the head of the ice bath and glared at the temperature on the monitors. “It was a messy fight.” He should have been paying attention. That Dick was better than he was didn’t excuse him from his responsibility or from his carelessness. He needed to be better.</p>
<p>“Until the analysis is complete, it’s symptomatic treatment,” said Alfred.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Will you be the one to monitor, then? Like that?”</p>
<p>Bruce blinked at the tone, and realized he was still wearing the soaked Batsuit, and that he was starting to shiver. Dick lay still in the ice bath, breathing shallowly.</p>
<p>“I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“Master Bruce, go clean up and change,” Alfred ordered sharply. Bruce glared, but of course Alfred didn’t flinch.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Bruce growled. He did his best, with each step, to remind himself that the alarms from the monitors could be heard in the showers. It would only take a few more seconds to get back if something went wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dick was burning up. Heat and pain. He couldn’t remember why, he couldn’t remember anything. The world kept cutting in and out and it hurt every time it did. He wished it would stay out, when it was in it swayed and wavered and he was constantly on the edge of throwing up.</p>
<p>At one point he realized he was talking only when the wrong voice told him everything was going to be all right.</p>
<p>At another point he realized he was talking when the dark-haired head looking down at him flinched back.</p>
<p>A while after that, he slowly realized that he didn’t feel quite so confused about what was going on.</p>
<p>Alfred asked him how he was doing.</p>
<p>“Hurts,” Dick told him. Alfred did something, and the world faded out into much less pain.</p>
<p>Another while after that, Dick realized he was conscious again. He felt sore everywhere, and he felt generally awful, but he wasn’t burning anymore.</p>
<p>“Hello?” he mumbled.</p>
<p>“Here, chum,” Bruce murmured from somewhere near his head. Dick didn’t want to open his eyes to look.</p>
<p>“Why do I feel like I’ve been dead?” Dick felt like he’d been beaten, overworked every muscle in his body, and had the flu at the same time, and was exhausted like he’d been working for three days straight. It was just faster and more dramatic to say he felt like he’d been dead.</p>
<p>Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, light enough to not hurt too much but solid enough to ground him.</p>
<p>“A lot of reasons, but probably mostly the seconal. You never react well to barbiturates.”</p>
<p>“Why’d I get seconal?” Dick tried to turn his head and thought better of it immediately.</p>
<p>“We couldn’t get your seizures to stop with just diazepam.”</p>
<p>Dick contemplated that. He couldn’t muster up much concern through the lingering effects of the sedatives.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until he woke up again that he realized he’d fallen asleep. This time he managed to open his eyes without too much trouble, and saw Bruce sitting by his bed, doing paperwork. They were in his bedroom.</p>
<p>“How long have I been up here?” Dick asked. He felt much less awful, but still hazy.</p>
<p>“Since yesterday,” Bruce said, putting his paperwork aside. “Are you awake this time?”</p>
<p>“I think so,” Dick said. “I was doing the half-conscious mumble thing, huh?”</p>
<p>“Hnn.” Bruce leaned over and kissed Dick’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re awake.”</p>
<p>There was something shaky in Bruce’s voice – subtle, but Dick could hear it. It told him that Bruce hadn’t been one hundred percent sure Dick was going to be ok.</p>
<p>“What was it?” he asked. Bruce looked grim.</p>
<p>“A modified amphetamine.”</p>
<p>“Well, if they’re looking to make it a club drug they need to make some different modifications,” Dick said. “I’m awake enough for the neurological checks.”</p>
<p>“In a bit,” Bruce said, and kissed his forehead again, then sat back. “Last time we were reading The Enchanted Castle.”</p>
<p>“Last time I was reading The Enchanted Castle, and you were trying to get out of bed with a broken leg.”</p>
<p>“Do you want me to read or not?”</p>
<p>Dick smiled as much as he could without his face aching too much. Bruce hummed, amused, and started to read.</p>
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